


1:54 pm

by palettesofrenaissance



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Budding Love, F/M, Long Awaited Return, Love Confessions, Partners to Lovers, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Prompt Fill, Return, Returning Home, Tumblr Prompt, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Years Later, meeting again after years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:35:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palettesofrenaissance/pseuds/palettesofrenaissance
Summary: He clears his throat. “I missed you intensely. Every day I thought about you. You kept me motivated. I couldn’t forget your order: ‘don’t die’.” Thor grins.He cradles her face. “I’m serious. I couldn’t get you from my mind. And so, you became my motivation. If I could just become better and come home to you…”“What would you do when you came back? What would you do when you finally saw me again?” She whispers right before he gently rubs the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip, leaving behind the tiniest sparks that gives her goosebumps.[ PROMPT - "Thor & Val seeing each other for the first time since the end of Endgame." ]
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Thor (Marvel)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42





	1:54 pm

**Author's Note:**

> _I have been feeling down so I filled some prompts on Tumblr. I really liked this story so I wanted to share with AO3._

The day that Thor returns from his expedition of self-discovery and pseudo-retreat in outer space, all of New Asgard is overtaken by exhilaration that starts as a whisper, of murmurs of confusion that become confirmation that the arrival of the foreign, weathered space ship is the travel vessel of their one and only; word ripples through New Asgard like wavelets from a skipped stone, transforming into a tsunami of infectious joy. When it finally reaches her, that same wave of emotion startles the New Asgardian king, blooming in her veins and rumbling the bones from her toes to her fingertips.

“He’s back!” someone alerts down the hallway, loud enough to eb heard in the meeting room.

“He’s returned!” echoes through the roads, from the beds of trucks.

The small band of hand-selected council members the king is surrounded by all freeze their discussion, look to her simultaneously, and if Valkyrie was perhaps a little less responsible and a little more drunk, she might have found it _hilarious_. But right now, she finds it anything of the sort.

“He’s here,” she hears the words slips out rather than registering she’s spoken them herself.

Her knees grow weak and her spine feels like jelly against the strong chair’s back. The papers from the meeting are oddly heavy in her hands; when they drop to the table, the _thud_ echoes in the now-empty meeting room—the table is handcrafted and sturdy; she uses it as a foundation as she stands, not completely trusting her ears and this being a dream.

Generously abiding by the overwhelming anxiousness felt from her council, they had wrapped up their meeting and all tried not to rush to meet the surviving Odinson. Valkyrie can understand their hurry—after all, most have lived in the castle and watched him grow up and knew him for years.

Valkyrie clutches harder to her copies of papers and various ink pens, telling herself to act like her new title—dignified and auspicious and responsible. He’d bestowed the title unto _her_ , after all, and with as much grace as their first meeting on the trash planet, Sakaar.

There’s a tingling in her fingers as she walks around the long meeting table, pushing in the chairs that were forgotten—a habit still being learned, as there no longer are according servants. There’s an itching in the soles of her feet as she walks to a window overlooking some Asgardians escorting the ragtag members from the ship into a temporary residence—a _motel_ , it’s called on Earth, Valkyrie remembers. It has amenities like fresh linen and free morning meals

Valkyrie watches a green-skinned woman walk between a slightly thickened man and a shorter woman with _antennas_ holding the hand of a cyborg. A walking tree has a raccoon on its shoulder. A bald, burly man is entertained by some of the small hospitality gifts provided by some maidens and men.

Valkyrie pops her hip, shuffles the stack of papers in her hands, watches the crowd and realizes that she doesn’t find the middle Odinson heir. The crowd below is smaller than she expects. She assumes that Thor is retiring to his old house. She’d made sure to keep it off limits until his return, certain that he would return—he’d _have_ to; he wouldn’t let himself die out there when they’re all here, while _she’s_ still here… At least, this is what she told herself over the years until that hope faded into a dimly glowing pulse.

The palm-sized amount of confidence she had when handed this responsibility—flattering, it was, honestly, but now that she’s grown into the crown, she can’t help but replay that memory like a record as she stands, alone, in this meeting room. She can no longer count the days she’d awoken alone and wishing she hadn’t, with only a royal pendant and her memories her only comfort. She can’t count the nights she remained awake with a heavy heart when he doesn’t return after years, wishing she had done _more_ or said _something_ to help. It’s selfish but oftentimes she found herself wishing to have kept him here.

As the members from the spaceship vanish out of sight, Valkyrie assumes now is about time she should join the others to meet her old friend. A heaviness in her chest almost convinces her _not_ to because there is a bit of fear held that, perhaps, he isn’t the same anymore. The truth: perhaps he doesn’t hold her to the height he had before. As it was never verbalized, she fears that maybe now all her unsorted, tangled emotions are one-sided and he’s found—

As she’s striding towards the exit, the doors barge open by Thor, out of breath and exuberant the _second_ he sees her. His mere presence freezes her still. Then, as he locks eyes with her immediately—and there is no longer the hollowness or heaviness there from a worn, sorrowful man; grief is still there but not as much as before—but then seeing him _lighten up_ after seeing her makes her throat dry and stick her tongue to the roof of her mouth, unable to speak in that moment.

He sighs her name, a genuine smile gracing his face—the first time it’s been genuine after so long. The emotion between them fills the meeting room and suffocates the air with words never said ready to pour over. The papers barely keep in her grasp.

Valkyrie blinks and then he’s rushing towards her. She blinks again and he’s enveloping her in his large arms, crushing her to his chest, his oversized weapons forgotten on the floor by the doors. Valkyrie can feel his erratic heartbeat pounding through his leather and she wonders if he can feel hers jumping to her throat as he slowly inhales and rests his head near her ear. She’s stuck in place, his grasp preventing her from moving or returning the embrace. And his hair, overgrown once more, veils her sight and tickles her face, still smelling like exhaust and stardust. Then he shifts his position and she freezes at feeling his face bury into her hair, inhaling her as his arms tighten, crushing her further against him and forcing her on tiptoes. His following sigh is of longing of the time past, of this particular memory of her which he almost forgot.

Neither know how long they remain in that position, remembering the small details of each other, ignoring the searching footfalls outside the closed doors, too lost in each other’s presence. But when he finally begins unwrapping from around her, Valkyrie is _startled_ to hear him _sniffle_.

He clears his throat. Croaks, “I… _relieved_ you’re still well. I… missed you quite _intensely_.”

She isn’t much better and has to clear her throat as well to quell her emotions. “Well, you were gone for years. I’d hope you missed me at least a little.”

This earns a small chuckle, easing some of the formal tension.

“Every day—I thought about you.”

“R… _really?_ ”

This catches her off guard because, despite their shared feelings, they were never shared or expanded beyond lingering touches, spoken innuendoes, and yearning stares because _formalities_ , because _professionalism_ , and then because of the end of the world following Ragnarök. So, this bluntness is the result of their harbored feelings over years and coming close to death many times.

“You kept me motivated. I couldn’t forget your order: ‘don’t die’.” He grins.

She rolls her eyes, holding in a smirk.

He cradles her face. “I’m serious—I saw…things, beings out there, and yet I couldn’t get you from my mind. I…didn’t want to. And so, you became my motivation. If I could just become better and come home to you…” The unfinished confession hangs in the air with expectancy and the same heaviness as there always has been between them. But this time, Valkyrie confronts them, ending that cycle.

“What would you do when you came back?” She ignores the moisture beginning to gather in her eyes. Her eyes close temporarily as his thumb rises from her cheekbone to swipe at a gathered tear. “What would you do when you saw me again, today?” She whispers, registering their close proximity—closer than they have ever physically been. It’s scary. It’s exhilarating. It leaves her blood roaring as one of his hands drop to the side of her waist and the other slides from her cheek to holding her chin, and then he gently rubs the pad of his thumb, feathery soft, across her bottom lip, leaving behind the tiniest sparks that gives her goosebumps.

Oh, how she’s missed that too.

And him, Thor’s gaze is focused and fixed on her, only her, and nowhere on the passing questions over his whereabouts across the settlement. His only shifting focus is from her eyes to her mouth—the mouth he’s fantasized about, had dreams about, whose words of encouragement and curses echoing in his head.

To Valkyrie, she’s hyper-aware his hand resting heavily on her waist, of their very informal position, of his thumb sliding across her lip again and the electricity that his touch leaves behind, of the air of anticipation, and what she thinks—hopes—is him leaning in, attention now directed entirely on her lips, but then—

But then—

But then the double doors swing open by a resident looking for the king, but comes to a halt right as Thor is slanting his mouth across Valkyrie’s and catches some of her papers before they fall to the floor.

**Author's Note:**

> _I know this is short but please share what you think about this story. I haven't written for this pair in a while and I want to get back into writing them. I love Thor and Val a lot_


End file.
